


Take One for the Team

by FreshBrains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Forced Bonding, M/M, Playgrounds, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Stiles Stilinski Niceness went, Isaac was getting the royal treatment.  Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, nobody could ever call Stiles patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take One for the Team

**Author's Note:**

> For the monthly M/M pairing (Isaac/Stiles) on the [Tumblr Teen Wolf Rarepair Campaign](http://rarepaircampaign.tumblr.com/)

As far as Stiles Stilinski Niceness went, Isaac was getting the royal treatment.

Stiles had been attempting to be cordial with Isaac—not _friends_ , exactly, but something nice enough to avoid the “bitter enemies and rivals for Scott’s attention” label that seemed to hover over them. He tried to give Isaac a half-smile when they sat across from each other at the lunch table, listened patiently when Scott and Isaac talked werewolf business (even though he practically knew more about werewolves than Isaac…did the kid even _read_?), and sometimes even avoided commenting on Isaac’s snappy Gap-on-cocaine wardrobe. 

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, nobody could ever call Stiles patient. 

“Stilinski,” Isaac said, voice cool and casual and laced with the usual undercurrent of anger. He always greeted Stiles like they were businessman.

Stiles turned on his heels, sneakers squeaking on the hallway linoleum. “Lahey.” He raised an eyebrow as he grabbed his books out of his locker. The halls were empty and Stiles was already way late to class.

“That was cute, what you said at lunch today,” Isaac said, ambling over to the lockers, hands in his pockets. “Scott was pretty pissed about it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, dude. He chewed me out. Happy?” Stiles knew it was a dick move to make a comment about Isaac’s past, but he wouldn’t bring himself to apologize. He just couldn’t like Isaac—he couldn’t like his fake cockiness, his eagerness to be in Scott’s group even though he used to be an asshole to everyone, the way he wanted people to pity him while he treated everyone else like shit.

“Not really. I know we aren’t exactly best friends, but could try _not_ being a dick for ten minutes. Maybe it would make things easier for everyone.” Isaac was right behind Stiles’ locker door, but Stiles refused to shut it and face Isaac head-on.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be such a dick if me and two of my friends weren’t basically going insane on the daily,” Stiles retorted. He felt a sudden snap of protectiveness towards Allison and Scott, a worry that Isaac was telling them to calm down or stop overreacting when they started getting dark. It was irrational to even think it…Isaac could be a bastard, but he wasn’t cruel. Stiles was just overprotective. “But you don’t really know what it’s like now, do you?”

Before Stiles had a chance to shut his locker, Isaac yanked him by the collar of his shirt. Stiles’ back was against the cool metal of the lockers, a clawed hand pressed to his chest. “Isaac, dude—“

“You think you know something about me,” Isaac growled, low and intense, face inches away from Stiles’. “You don’t know _shit_.” He gave Stiles a hard shove and Stiles hissed as his lock dug against the small of his back. “How about I shove you inside this locker and keep you there…then you’ll _really_ know what it’s like to go insane.” 

His eyes glowed yellow, and for the first time, Stiles was actually afraid of him, afraid of what he might be capable of doing without having Scott’s calming hand on his shoulder. Stiles remembered his nightmare, being trapped in his locker with no way out, being trapped underground or underwater, being _trapped_ , and fear spiked low in his belly. “Isaac…Isaac, I’m sorry.”

Isaac’s grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. “It isn’t so easy to forget, is it?” His eyes were shifting quickly, yellow and natural green, like Isaac couldn’t decide exactly what he was feeling.

Stiles slowly brought his hands up to grip Isaac’s clenched fists, wincing as he pricked his thumb on a claw as he pulled them away. “It isn’t. I’m sorry. I was an asshole.” 

Isaac inhaled sharply and finally let go, fists uncurling from Stiles’ shirt. His eyes changed back to full human and he shook his head, like he was snapping out of a daze. “Yeah. You were. But I’m used to it, so whatever.”

Stiles was used to it, too—the sudden flashes of anger, the being shoved against hard surfaces, the lack of respect for a soft human body surrounded by hard werewolves. But he knew it wasn’t the time to push it. “Yeah, whatever.”

Stiles straightened his shirt and stuffed his books in his backpack. As he walked down the hall to history, he heard Isaac get one last jab in: “But if you do ever get trapped somewhere, maybe you can just _read_ your way out of it.”

Stiles was impatient, and obnoxious, and could get under peoples’ skin in the worst way, but he was never violent, just like Isaac was never cruel. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from stalking down the hallway towards Isaac while shrugging his backpack off his shoulders, itching for a conflict. “Man, what’s your fucking _problem_?”

Isaac faced Stiles, stone-still as a brick wall, and opened his arms wide with a smirk. “Oh, are you going to hit me now? Go ahead. We both know how it’ll end.”

Stiles itched to haul off and smack Isaac in the face, just one hit, a good one, but Isaac was right—between a human and a werewolf, it could only end one way. And besides, Scott and Allison both genuinely liked Isaac, and Stiles didn’t want to put any more pressure on them by making them choose between friends. He wasn’t _that_ much of a dick. So he took a deep breath, cleared out his lungs, and shrugged. “I’m not going to hit you. But you better stay the fuck out of my way, understand?”

Isaac smirked again, that stupid smirk on his stupid chiseled face, and Stiles shouldered his backpack and walked down the hall again, getting away from Isaac as fast as he could.

*

“What’s going on between you and Isaac, anyway?” Scott tugged his gym shirt on in the locker room, his hair a frazzled mop and his face twisted in concern.

Stiles avoided his best friend’s eyes. “Nothing. We’re just peachy, as usual.”

“Then why do you have those?” Scott nodded towards Stiles’ chest, and Stiles looked down. He was surprised to see a smattering of knuckle-shaped bruises and two pinprick claw marks low on his collarbone—they didn’t really hurt, but Isaac must’ve pressed a little harder than he thought. “I can smell him on you, too. Did you seriously get in a fight?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and yanked his shirt on over his chest. “He was just being dramatic. The kid is trying to push my buttons, and then he gets pissed when I push back.”

“It isn’t exactly a one-way street,” Scott said, not unkindly.

“But he acts like…” Stiles sighed, feeling silly for thinking it. “He acts like he has some sort of claim on you, just because you’re both…you know.” Stiles turned away, grabbing his stick of deodorant. “It pisses me off. He doesn’t know you like I know you.”

Scott smiled, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. “You’re right, man. He doesn’t. You’re my best friend, always and forever, all for one and one for all, and all that stuff. Okay?”

Stiles looked over and gave Scott a punch to the shoulder. “Yeah, I know. But don’t expect me and Isaac to be best buddies. That guy gets to me.”

“At least make an effort,” Scott said, locking his gym locker. “For me and Allison.”

Scott always knew how to land a punch where it hurt the most. “Fine. It may kill me, but fine.”

*

“Do you want to like…do something, sometime?” Stiles stood next to the jeep on the edges of the preserve, waiting for Scott and Lydia to return from some weird Malia Tate recon mission that nobody understood except them. Lydia was weirdly fascinated with Malia’s development in the wild and had gone to visit her at the hospital a few times where she was recuperating—she was practically Malia’s new best friend. 

Isaac was on stand-by, mostly because he was a lazy bastard and didn’t want to get his new shoes dirty (or at least that’s how Stiles saw it), and Stiles was only there because he had the wheels. _Thank you, Scott, for setting me and Lahey up on this little outing. Thanks so much_.

Isaac glanced over at Stiles, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You know, I was personally pretty comfortable with this no-talking thing we had going here.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “God, shut up, you’re already annoying me. I mean it. Scott wants us to be friends.” There was no point in skirting the subject.

“Can’t we just pretend to be friends? We can start fake-laughing when they come back.” Isaac leaned against the jeep, much to Stiles’ chagrin. 

Stiles raised his hands in defeat. “Forget I asked. This is pointless.” He cupped his hands, breathing into them for warmth. It was chilly for early fall, but he wasn’t about to chicken out by sitting in the car while Isaac toughed it out outside. 

Isaac shivered, trying to cover it up by shifting onto his heels. He wrapped his arms around his own torso. 

Stiles rolled his eyes again. “God, go sit inside the car, you look butt-ass cold.” He zipped his hoodie up.

“I’m fine,” Isaac grumbled. “You’re the soft little human, you go sit in the car.” 

“I’m waiting for Scott, I’m not sitting in the car.” 

“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking annoying.” Isaac’s breath was already cloudy in the air; it was chillier than either of them thought it would be. After a moment passed, Isaac asked, “So, if we _did_ hang out, and I’m not saying we will, what do you propose we do?”

Stiles snorted. “Haven’t you ever had friends before?”

Isaac was silent, and Stiles felt his face burn. “Shit…dude, that honestly wasn’t a dig. I just…” he tried to save face. “What do you for fun?”

Isaac sighed. “I used to snowboard. Skateboard. Play video games. Listen to music.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, okay. Good. We can do all of those things together. With minimal speaking.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, working his tongue between his bottom teeth and lip in his usual annoying way that screamed _I am way too important to be here with this simpleton_. “Well, unless you want to make it a three-way playdate with Scott, we have to go to your house.”

“Fine by me,” Stiles said, like he was taking a dare. “Come over around five after school tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Isaac snapped, but neither of them knew when their plan-making turned into a sudden spitting argument, and they lapsed into silence again.

In a fluid motion, Isaac pulled off his jacket, some ugly-as-hell wool pea-coat thing that he apparently found in Derek’s hand-me-down pile, and offered it to Stiles like it was a used tissue.

Stiles blinked, looking at Isaac like he’d just slapped him. “The fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Wear it,” Isaac said gruffly, his cheeks a little flushed. “My wolf…it sort of hates when people are cold. Gets all pissed off. So take the coat so I can relax.”

Begrudgingly, Stiles took the coat, and slowly slid it over his arms. Admittedly, it did smell pretty nice—like spicy men’s cologne, but not dad-cologne…expensive Macy’s behind-the-counter cologne. And it was warm.

But it was also Isaac’s, so therefore, the coat was merely acceptable.

When Scott and Lydia finally got back to the jeep, it was already getting dark and Lydia had an armful of sticks and scraps of cloth—what was left of Malia’s den. “How did it go?” Stiles asked.

“Fine,” Scott said distractedly, sniffing the air. “Why are you wearing Isaac’s coat?”

“It’s cold,” Isaac and Stiles said at the same time. Lydia raised her eyebrows, and a silence fell over the group.

“Well, let’s pack it up and haul ass,” Stiles said cheerfully, hopping into the driver’s seat.

Before he dropped Isaac and Scott off, Isaac failed to ask for the return of his coat, and it wasn’t Stiles fault that he just so happened to forget to remind him.

*

“It’s weird back here,” Scott said carefully, leaning in between Stiles and Isaac, who sat in the front of the jeep.

“Never thought you’d be delegated to the backseat, did you, Scotty?” Stiles was cheerful in Scott and Isaac’s discomfort—it was Monday, and Isaac was going home with Stiles for what Lydia dubbed a “man date.” And goody-goody-Disney-prince Scott said it would only make sense if Isaac took the front seat, since Stiles was dropping Scott off first, and the kid _still_ had to bring up the awkwardness of Isaac getting Scott’s well-won shotgun spot.

Scott leaned back and shifted around a little, thumping against the back of Isaac’s seat so Isaac lurched forward a little. “It’s actually pretty nice back here. I can practically lie down.”

“Cool,” Stiles said sarcastically, “we’re at your house, wake up.”

“We could always just do this another time,” Isaac said with a shrug, looking like he wanted nothing more than to jump out of the jeep and hightail it to the McCall’s front porch. 

“No sir, this is happening. For _Scott_ ,” Stiles insisted, even though Scott was still right there and could hear everything.

“That’s the spirit. My two best bros, bro-ing down together. Have fun!” Scott slid out of the car and Stiles couldn’t but wonder when his best friend got so smooth.

Once Scott was inside, the jeep was excruciatingly quiet, even as the engine hummed. Isaac sighed and reached into his pocket, popping a breath mint as Stiles backed out of the driveway.

Stiles glanced at Isaac out of the corner of his eye. “Are you planning on seducing me this afternoon?”

Isaac sneered. “You wish. So I like having minty-fresh breath, sue me, Stilinski.”

“Well then, give me one.”

“That was my last one.”

“Oh, you fucking liar. We’re so past this. Give me a mint.”

Isaac groaned and shook the mint contained into Stiles’ open palm. “You better have good food at your house. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“Which was literally three hours ago, a normal time span between meals. Are all you werewolves constantly hungry?”

Isaac was quiet for a moment. “I guess so. I mean, Derek never mentioned it or anything, but I’ve always been kind of weird about food. I like knowing it’s there, if that makes any sense.” Isaac was still trying for casual, but he always seemed to corner himself into conversations that he started but didn’t really want to have.

Stiles felt a lurch in his stomach when he thought about what it must’ve been like for Isaac as a kid, not knowing when he’d be let out of the basement so he could eat supper, not knowing when the next time his father threw the dishes all over the floor would be. It didn’t warrant a snarky comment or wry retort; Stiles just let it go, stayed quiet. He understood if there were some things that Isaac just needed to _say_ once in a while, just so he didn’t have to carry it around.

“We have Doritos. I mean, I have to hide them in my bedroom so my dad won’t find them, but I can sneak them out. For a guest.” Stiles fiddled with the radio, but he had no clue what music Isaac listened to, so he just kept the top 40 station on low.

Isaac eased back into his seat, looking away from Stiles and out the window. “Sounds good to me.”

The rest of the ride was spent in companionable silence.

*

“So explain this to me again.” Stiles sat on one end of the sofa with Isaac on the other, as far away as possible while in the same room. Two game controller cords met in the middle and slithered across the carpet to Stiles’ Wii. “How can you claim to like video games and have never played Mario Kart before?”

“Dude, I don’t know,” Isaac said, hands out in exasperation. “I’m more of an Xbox guy. _Call of Duty_?” 

“Yeah, I know what _Call of Duty_ is, moron,” Stiles snapped. “I am a person under the age of fifty. But literally _everyone_ has played Mario Kart. I know for a fact that Scott has Mario Kart and he’s a _boss_ at it.”

“Well, sorry, I guess. I suppose I was too busy trying not to kill my peers after I was _turned into a werewolf_.”

Stiles threw his hands in the air. “Oh, I see we’re switching tactics now. Great.”

Isaac grabbed the bag of Doritos from the end table and tore it open. “So are going to play, or what?”

Stiles sighed and pulled up the menu on the Wii. “Hell yeah, we’re gonna play. But I get to be Princess Peach, she’s the best.”

“Suit yourself. Can I be the one in the green hat? Mario?” Isaac bit his lip, trying not to laugh as he kept his eyes trained on the screen.

Stiles bit his lip for an entirely different reason and shot a quick prayer to whoever would listen to grant him enough sanity to make it through the afternoon. “You’re fucking killing me, dude.”

*

Well, as it turned out, Isaac took to Mario Kart like a were-duck took to water—he practically smoked Stiles on the racing portion, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the mechanics of coins and banana peels. 

“I just spun you out for the fourth time, haven’t you learned your lesson?” Stiles was slack-jawed as he focused on the game, elbows flying all over the place. 

“I thought I was supposed to beat you,” Isaac said, just as slowly, like they were both underwater. Stiles was impressed that Isaac slid into Mario Kart Stasis so quickly. “And I am.”

“Yeah, but…” Stiles said, growling as Isaac nudged past him, “you’re ignoring the coins, they make you faster.”

Isaac swerved his kart over and scooped up a row of coins right in front of Stiles. He laughed. “That’s what you get for helping me.”

“Asshole,” Stiles muttered, flailing with his elbow again, but this time it hit something warm and soft. He glanced over and realized with a start that he and Isaac drifted together on the couch, meeting in the squishy middle area that tended to swallow spare change and the TV remote. Their arms pressed together and Stiles felt the warm pressure of Isaac’s thigh against his. He flushed a little—he had no idea what Isaac’s take on personal space was, but he didn’t want to move away like Isaac had cooties. 

“Stop thinking so hard,” Isaac said, shoulders jerking as he took a sharp turn. “I’m sure you and Scott cuddle all the time.”

“Shut up, we’re not cuddling,” Stiles said, his face only getting redder. “I have a strict no-werewolf-cuddling rule.”

“But werewolves are the best cuddlers,” Isaac said without even a hint of irony. “We’re warm, furry, and we have a pack mentality.”

Stiles perked up a little and nearly sent his kart careening into Bowser. No matter how awkward the situation, he was always up for a little werewolf lore. “Elaborate.”

“It’s sort of obvious,” Isaac said, and Stiles rolled his eyes— _back to condescending, I see_. “Werewolves are pack creatures. We like being close to people. Emotionally and physically. Especially our pack.”

“But I’m not pack,” Stiles said, skimming just ahead of Isaac on the track. His heartbeat quickened as he saw the black and white checked line approaching. 

“You’re just as much a part of the pack as I am,” Isaac said seriously, and jammed suddenly on his controller. He zoomed past Stiles and across the line, beating him on that race.

Stiles sagged into the couch. “Beat by a first-timer. This is beyond humiliating.”

Isaac slumped back as well, tossing the controller on the sofa, and the cushions sagged even more, forcing the two together. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore—Isaac wasn’t manipulating him or forcing him, but the way his body remained relaxed and soft was calming. It felt safe—it felt _normal_. “You freaked out by me? Don’t want to touch me?”

Stiles snorted and shook his head. “I’m practically on your lap right now, dude. If the touchy-feely panic was going to set it, I think it would’ve sprung up by now.”

Isaac smiled a little, reaching for the Doritos bag. “I mean it, Stilinski. We can feel it—the werewolves, I mean. Pack is pack, and you’re a part of it. Okay?”

Stiles nodded and tried to ignore the spicy-warm smell of Isaac’s skin, so similar to the cologne on his jacket (that Stiles still hadn’t returned). “Yeah, got it. I have to admit, you’ve got something good going for you here. You’re like a human furnace.”

In a smooth move, Isaac leaned back more and swung his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, like a bold date copping a feel. “How’s this?” He asked with a smirk.

Stiles mock-gasped, grabbing a handful of Doritos. “Isaac Lahey, you _are_ trying to seduce me. I knew it. But keep doing it, this is cozy as hell. Are you going to have a masculinity crisis about this later? Because I’m not.”

Isaac rested his head on the back of the couch and for the first time, Stiles thought that he looked _relaxed_. “I think I’ll be fine. You may be annoying as shit, but you smell nice.”

Stiles nodded and curled into Isaac’s arm. “Thank you. Duly noted.”

This was, of course, the moment Stiles’ father unlocked the front door and returned home after work. 

Stiles sat up a little, but didn’t spring back from Isaac’s touch—it couldn’t get much more innocent, and besides, it wasn’t like they were going to _do_ anything. “Welcome home, Daddy-O. You remember Isaac, right?”

The sheriff nodded, thinking for a moment, and Stiles knew he was imagining the chessboard and figuring out a place for Isaac. “Of course. Isaac, how are you?”

“Doing great, Sheriff Stilinski. Melissa is taking good care of me.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” the sheriff said, making a not-so-subtle show of hanging up his gun belt in the hall. Stiles rolled his eyes. Isaac looked nonplussed. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Isaac looked at Stiles, and Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” Stiles said. “I’ll cook tonight. Isaac can help.”

“Good idea,” the sheriff said, voice echoing from the kitchen. “Let’s have you two in here where I can see you.” Stiles knew that was as close to a warning as they were going to get, and he exhaled in relief as Isaac blushed deep red.

“Still want to cuddle?” Stiles asked, getting up off the couch and extending a hand to Isaac.

Isaac smiled, and took the offered hand. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Stiles hated his stupid smirk, and that flip in his stomach was _definitely_ from annoyance.

*

_“So how was it?”_

Stiles hesitated before answering, thinking back to the afternoon. “It was…fine. Actually, more than fine. We had fun.”

Stiles could practically hear Scott’s smile over the phone. _“Dude, awesome! I knew you’d be friends when you both stopped being so…well,_ you _.”_

“Ouch,” Stiles muttered, and cracked open his history book, trying to study. “My dad loves him for some reason. Probably because Isaac passed him the salt, even after I specifically asked him _not_ to.”

_“Isaac told me he had a good time, too. He likes being a part of a family.”_

Stiles was quiet for a second. “Yeah, I can tell. Look, we’re not exactly BFF’s now, but I get it. Isaac’s not bad.”

Scott sighed. _“This is so cool. We’re like a real pack now. I have to go, I’m picking up Allison and Lydia for a movie soon. See you tomorrow?”_

When Stiles hung up, he felt lonely—the feeling usually came along when his anxiety was high, that need to be around another person. He ducked his head out into the hallway and called, “Dad?” But when he looked downstairs, he saw his dad asleep on the couch.

He lingered in the hallway for a bit, then spied Isaac’s jacket curled in a ball at the foot of his bed. He shrugged and grabbed his keys. “What the hell.”

As he got into the jeep, he texted Isaac, _“I’m bored. Let’s hang out.”_

Isaac replied in a few seconds. _“Is it my job to entertain you now?”_

Stiles didn’t hesitate. _“Sure is.”_

He smiled when he got Isaac’s reply. _“Meet me at the park in 10.”_

*

Stiles and Isaac lay on their backs on the red and blue metal merry-go-round, spinning idly and passing a can of Arizona ice tea back and forth. “Is this what you and Scott do for fun?” Isaac asked, kicking at the dirt to spin them a little faster.

Stiles grabbed the last cupcake in the Hostess two-pack Isaac was kind enough to pick up at the gas station. “Sometimes we go fishin’ down by the creek, and then there was the time we faked our own deaths and watched our funeral from the church rafters.”

Isaac snorted out a laugh. “I’m serious. I’ve lived here all my life, but I barely left my house. I went to this park a few times when I was little. Before…” he trailed off, and took a swig of tea.

“Me too,” Stiles said, watching the stars swirl lazily above them. “I don’t know, Scott and I just do whatever. We’ve been best friends forever, so it isn’t hard to just fuck around and find shit to do.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. It was late, and they had school the next day, but Stiles could feel a sort of restlessness between them. 

“I never really had a friend like that before Erica and Boyd,” Isaac said quietly, sitting up and leaning against the metal handrail. “It’s been sort of weird. This is nice.”

Stiles nodded. This was a different side of Isaac—soft, honest, gentle. Someone who was easy to talk to, easy to share silence with. “And it helps that I’m so warm.”

Isaac snorted again. “Hell yeah, it does.”

Stiles knew it was on the edge between friendship and flirting, bullshit and banter. But he didn’t mind, not really. “I’m not giving this jacket back, dude.”

Isaac didn’t say anything, but Stiles looked over and saw him smile, teeth white in the dark. And it wasn’t even a huge surprise when Isaac wrapped his hand around Stiles’ bicep and pulled him in slowly, gently, asking permission.

Stiles nodded and swallowed before tilting his chin up, and Isaac pressed a kiss to his mouth, small and chaste, but _nice_. Stiles didn’t pull away, and Isaac deepened the kiss a little, cupping the back of Stiles’ neck with a cool hand.

When they parted, Stiles laid back down on the merry-go-round, licking his lips. “Not that you’re not a surprisingly awesome kisser, but why now? I thought we were still lingering in the barely-bros stage.”

Isaac laughed and turned away, almost like he was embarrassed. “You need a crash course on werewolf flirting apparently.” He bent down over Stiles, looming above him. “Want your first lesson?”

“Hell yeah,” Stiles said, and this time, he let his hands wander.

They stayed out a little too late, went a little too far, and by the time Stiles got back to his house near one in the morning, he had a hickey the size of his fist on his neck, way too much playground sand in his shoes, and a giant smile on his face.

*

When Stiles closed his locker before second period the next day, he didn’t even bother to be surprised when Scott appeared on the other side, practically glowing with happiness.

Stiles glared at him. “God, don’t even say anything.”

Scott swung an arm around Stiles, tactfully avoiding his kiss-swollen neck. “You’re pretty much the best friend ever, you know. I ask you to make an effort with Isaac, and then you start _dating_ him. Talk about the extra mile, dude!”

“We’re not _dating_ ,” Stiles scoffed, face burning red. “We just, you know…fooled around a little. We don’t all become mated for life after one kiss.”

Scott laughed. “Isaac didn’t really smell like _one kiss_ when he got home last night.”

Stiles smiled. “He’s really good at it. Did you know that?”

Scott shoved him in the arm. “Thanks for sharing. So do you think you’ll do it again?”

Stiles thought for a moment. It was an effort to like Isaac sometimes—he was arrogant and overconfident, he made fun of Stiles’ hobbies and lack of hand-eye coordination, he hogged the Doritos. Sometimes Stiles still wanted to sock him one, just because of his stupidly smug handsome werewolf face. He rubbed the love bite on his neck and shrugged.

“Maybe. You know, for your sake. Keep us all happy.”

*

When he got home after school, Stiles sent Isaac a single text: _Come entertain me._

Isaac wasted no time responding: _Be over in 10._

**Author's Note:**

> A few small warnings: The conflict from the first episode or two of 3B between Isaac and Stiles is addressed, and they address the way Stiles derailed Isaac's history of abuse. In retaliation, Isaac acts violently towards Stiles, but it doesn't escalate past a push/shove against a locker. There are a few ableist slurs used as insults (ex, moron). 
> 
> Minor spoilers for the first two episodes of 3B.


End file.
